My Name Is Jessica
by danrac
Summary: When Sam is seriously injured at school, Jess makes a devastating phone call... Previously posted elsewhere, so complete here over the next few days. Pre-series, spoilers only for the pilot
1. Chapter 1

"Ms. Moore?"

The doctor that approached her looked twenty seven or twenty eight, probably a resident still. Did attendings get stuck with 3am ER call? Jessica wasn't sure. She propped up on her elbows, back peeling away from the vinyl of the bed. "Yes."

"I'm Dr. Connor. I'm on call for the night. I got your CT report back, everything looks ok, so as soon as I get those stitches done, we'll move you upstairs."

That was a surprise. "I'm getting admitted?"

"Just for observation tonight. Standard with a loss of consciousness, even if there doesn't seem to be a problem. That was a pretty good knock on the head, anyway. Afraid you'll have quite the shiner for a few weeks. Now, I really do need to finish those sutures. Seems like we're packed tonight."

"What? Oh. Ok. Do you know anything about my boyfriend? He came in with me...."

Dr. Connor wheeled the round black stool to the side of her bed and began to arrange the contents of a suture kit on the tray table. Pulling the overhead lamp down, he got a closer look at the scalp laceration that had soaked half of his patient's blonde waves in blood. Looked worse than it was, eight or nine stitches would probably do it. Too bad the attending for the night had something against staples. Could have those done in three minutes. Oh well. He started pulling xylocaine up in a syringe, tapping the glass vial with a flick of his fingers.

"Do you?"

"Oh, sorry. What's his name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Not off the top of my head. Although the trauma team's got four patients in the last two hours. Just took one to the OR. Not a great big guy, blonde hair, grey eyes?"

"No, that's not Sam. Why?" Jessica's heart skipped a beat at the description. That lug was most definitely not Sam.

"Never mind, just don't think that fella's gonna do very well. I'll see if the nurse can find something out for you." Ten minutes later he was gone, leaving Jess to wonder just what, exactly, had happened.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Callie closed the door to the hospital room as quietly as she could, unsure if Jessica was awake and unable to see her eyes in the early morning light. They'd been roommates for a year before her friend left the dorm to move in with Sam. "Jess?"

"It's ok Callie, I'm awake. Turn the light on if you want." She turned her face toward her friend, but made no effort to sit up as the room brightened.

"I heard what happened. Or rather I sort of heard what happened. Some kind of fight? Are they going to let you out of here today? Are your folks coming?"

"I didn't call them yet actually. I need to talk to Sam first and no one in this God forsaken place will tell me how he is. Only got someone to confirm an hour ago that he was even here, and that was one of the cops that came. Go find out for me, please?"

"Hey, calm down, I'm sure he's ok. Probably just stuck in a room same as you. Look, I saw the surgery residents coming down the hall. Why don't wait until they get here and if you're discharged, we'll find Sam's room together. If not, I'll go find out." It was just dawning on Callie that Jess was scared. Even at Stanford, book smart was no guarantee of her having any common sense. She tried to take a more soothing tone. "What did happen?"

"I was trying to get Sam to stop rehashing his exams, you know how he is with tests, even when they're over he replays 'em in his head for hours, berating himself for not eekking out one more point somewhere. Anyway, we went to dinner, then I drug him to Casey's. He didn't even want to go, said all the bars would be packed on a Friday after midterms. He was right, of course, but he likes the music there and we ended up having a nice time. It was one, one fifteen maybe and we decided to call it a night. We were getting in my car and I realized I left my bag inside. Should have just left it, everything important was in my pocket anyway. But no, I had to go back for that all valuable lipstick. Told Sam to start the car and get the heater going. Wasn't even that cold.........." Jess paused for a minute, staring out the window.

"Next thing I know, I'm around the corner and these guys are just there all the sudden. I didn't see them until the blonde one grabbed at me, backhanded me across the face. I didn't even get a chance to yell for help before they pushed me back in that alley beside the bar. I couldn't get away from all of them, the other two grabbed my hands..."

Callie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, a hand stroking over Jess's hair. She handed her the tissue box from the nightstand. "Jess, did they?"

She dabbed at her eyes before answering. "No. Sam must have heard all the commotion, came flying around the corner. Callie, I've never seen him like that. It just wasn't him. He.... " Jess returned to staring out the window, apprehensive expression etched on her face, tears now falling unchecked.

"It's ok. Hey, shhh. It's ok. That's what you needed him to do, right? No one wants to be the damsel in distress, but if it comes to that, nothing wrong with the knight in shining armor showing up, ok?"

"Yeah, I guess..."

"You guess? Jess, they were going to..."

She interrupted before her friend could finish that sickening thought. "I know. I know, I didn't mean it that way. Of course, I'm glad he was there. But you didn't see him."

"Jess?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Are you afraid _for_ Sam or _of_ Sam?"

"I don't know." Her voice dropped to a tiny guilty whisper.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Three. The third one took off. I'm sorry officer, but this is the fourth time we've done this. Is there a problem? I need to check on Jessica." Sam looked from the policeman who'd been at his bedside the last six hours to the shiny silver handcuff linking him to the emergency room bed. This was definitely a disadvantage to living normal. Back home, wherever that might be any given week, he'd have picked this and been long gone the first time the cop headed for a bathroom break. Here he was stuck. While the situation was certainly a big deal to him personally, he couldn't see what had made it so interesting to the Palo Alto police department. Overly flirty drunks starting a fight just weren't that hard to come by.

The officer sighed and tried to stretch his legs out in the plastic tub chair. Frankly, he was tired of babysitting the lanky boy beside him. THe sun was coming up and his shift was over an hour ago. Would have been a lot easier to just haul him down to the station house to sort this out, but apparently the ER doc had been too busy to stitch up knees and splint broken fingers until half an hour ago, so he'd wasted the whole night parked in this torture chamber of a chair. Damn college kids and their pranks. Wonder how long it was going to take this one's Daddy to show up waving around money and lawyers? If he asked about that girl again he was gonna scream.

"Look kid, what you need to do is settle in and wait. All I know is what the nurse said. She's admitted for observation and she'll be fine. Same as an hour ago. Once Officer Mallory comes back, we'll decide what to do with you."

Fortunately Officer Mallory chose that moment to appear, flipping through notes on a clip board. "Hey Mike, you can head home if you want. Kid's story checks out. Couple of bystanders all confirm he didn't start anything."

Sam had the feeling that Mallory was the one in charge now and decided to wait until Mike was out of sight down the corridor before trying to start a conversation again.

He inclined his head back toward his newest piece of jewelry. "So, maybe?"

Mallory almost smiled at him, holding up a set of keys. He unlocked the cuff and watched Sam alternate between rubbing his wrist and shaking his fingers. "You're free to go, but we may need to talk to you again later. Everyone we talked to, including Ms. Moore, said the blonde guy jumped her and his friends were about to help him out when you showed up. Mark Pullman, that's the blonde, if you're curious."

"Why would I be?" Of course Sam was curious, but something about the officer's tone sent an alarm down his spine.

"Because he just died in the OR. So, now I've got one dead guy, one that's still up in surgery getting his spleen yanked out and a broken arm pinned, and one that took off to who knows where. And then I've got a kid who's school transcripts say he doesn't play sports, doesn't hang out at the gym, never had a martial arts class, yet he's the cause of all that mayhem. I find that very curious Mr. Winchester, don't you?"

Sam hung his head, mind still reeling with the idea that he'd killed someone named Mark Pullman. An awful someone, but dead? As in, well, dead? "No sir, not curious."

"So it's sir now, is it? Getting an inkling that you could be in trouble here? As far as I can tell you haven't been a problem before, but you'll want to be as cooperative as you can with this. So far it looks like self defense. Stay available, work with us on getting information, and it is unlikely any charges will be filed. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam had finished signing his discharge papers, writing largely illegible as juggled the pen against the splint tapped to the last three fingers of his right hand. Jessica must still be upstairs somewhere. He started to run up the nearest flight when the stitches across his left knee pulled him up short. Just as well. Make more sense to go to information desk and find out where she was. A few minutes later he was standing outside room 316, back leaning against the wall. It had been a long time since he was nervous about talking to Jessica.

He took his cellphone out of the pocket of his ripped jacket, almost pushed that first button. He could hear Dean's voice in his head, talking to a seven year old Sam while gently dabbing at a bloody nose.

_"I know I told you not to take any crap, Sammy, but you gotta pick your moment, ok? That Adams boy has been asking for it, I'll give you that, just next time don't push him right in front of the teacher. You can always find a time without a bunch of eyes around. Better yet, come get me. I'll take care of it. Teachers always figure I'm trouble anyways, right? Got that whole rebel without a cause thing to uphold, so let me handle it. There, your nose looks better. His looks worse, I hope? Seriously Sammy, Dad expects you to stay under the radar. Don't draw attention to yourself and stay out of trouble."_

Sam slipped the phone back in a pocket. "Think I screwed that all to hell Dean." He pushed the door open.

She was sitting on the far edge of her bed, already dressed in a long sleeve green t-shirt and old jeans. Damp blonde hair trailed down her back, silhouetted by sun coming through the window. He couldn't see her face.

"Jess, do you want me to stay?"

Sam jumped at the sound of Callie's voice, he hadn't seen her behind the door as he'd walked in. Jess had a way of filling every inch of his awareness.

Silence stretched as he stared at her back, counting the heartbeats in his throat, then a soft "no" sent Callie from the room.

He waited for her to turn around; decided she wasn't going to. Chewing his lower lip he sat down on the bed from the other side, resting a hand on each of her slim shoulders. Felt her flinch at his touch. Let his hands fall to his sides again.

"Jess, I'm sorry. I know they scared you; know I probably scared you too. Are you ok? The nurse at the desk said we could go home, if you're ready?" He found himself watching her breathe as the second hand made its way around the wall clock for the eleventh time. Maybe she wasn't going to answer?

"Sam?" Her hand groped behind her, finally fastening on his sleeve.

"Yeah?"

"He died?"

"Yeah Jess." Her tone was as flat as he'd ever heard it, no hint if she was relieved or horrified. Sam waited some more.

She nodded, shifted sideways enough to take his hand.

He fought a sharp intake of breath that threatened to become a hiss as he caught sight of her blackened, swollen eye, the fingermarks that bruised her neck and wrists. Fury welled again from the center of his soul, no one was ever going to hurt her again. He forced the clamoring emotion from his face, suffocated it back into the cage of a former life she would never know had been. Last thing she needed was him freaking out. "Ready?"

She didn't say another word, but stood and started for the door, tightening her grip on Sam's hand.

Sam followed her out, unconsciously pinching his upper lip with his opposite hand. _So she needs a little time to think about this. I do too. All I have to do is be patient, make sure I don't scare her again, and we can talk about this when she's ready. I can do that._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam's mind was still mulling his plan to be the calmest, mildest mannered guy on the earth as the two of them neared the end of the sidewalk leading into the hospital parking garage. He was almost too lost in thought to hear the nearly silent click behind him, but maybe that cage never locked all the way after all. Almost...

Click-click.

"He's DEAD you bastard!"

"NO! Jess DOWN!"

Sam felt Jess hit the sidewalk beheath him as he tackled her, heard the shot of the gun combine with the sound of her head hitting pavement for the second time in twelve hours. Opened his mouth to ask if she was ok -- and was stopped short by the metallic drop of blood falling from his lips. Somehow the taste of it restarted his brain, bringing an instant awareness of fire lancing through his back, and then the spark faded as quickly as it came, lost in blessed oblivion.

Jess struggled beneath him, unable to shift his eerily still bulk, life's blood flowing over her neck, soaking her shirt, trailing around her to the ground. She knew none of it was hers. Oh God. "HELP!! SOMEBODY HELP!"


	2. Chapter 2

_If you absolutely insist on getting shot shot in the back, the hospital parking lot is probably the way to go..._

"Miss, I know this is hard, but you have to stop moving, let us take it from here, ok?" A paramedic crew had heard Jessica screaming as they were preparing to leave the ambulance bay. One of the medics was now on his knees, head leaned over upside down so he could talk to Jess. "That's it. Stay right there and let us get him. We need to get inside, no one spotted the shooter." He raised his head to look at his partner across their bodies. Saw him check a pulse and then the silent shake of his head and raised eyebrows. This was not going to go well. They log rolled Sam off her and onto the stretcher, settling a mask and ambu bag over his face as soon as he was on his back. Popping the wheels up to raise the stretcher off the ground, the second man hopped onto the foot rail and then swung astride the bed so he could begin CPR compressions as they rolled Sam into the ER.

A pair of nurses had come out to meet them, the first joining the medics' resuscitation efforts, the second going to the now sitting Jess. "Give yourself a minute before you stand up. You dizzy?"

Jessica shook her head. "S-Sam..."

"I know. Shhh, honey, I know. We're taking care of him, ok? Now let me take care of you. Any of that blood yours?" The nurse cast her a concerned look and waited until Jessica shook her head again. "Good then. Stand up with me then, nice and slow, and I'll get you inside."

Jess spotted the wheelchair another staff member had brought out. "D-don't need-d..."

"Fastest way in, honey, ok?"

The hundred yards back into the hospital seemed an insurmountable distance once she lost sight of Sam. He'd been so still. Since Jess had hit her head, the nurse took her into the ER itself rather than the waiting room. She couldn't see from the curtained cubicle where she'd been deposited, but she could hear all too well.

"Damn, I just signed this kid out. What's his name again? Find me that chart. Ok guys, what have you got?" A voice she didn't know. The doctor?

"Rifle shot in the back, just left of the spine, 3rd or 4th rib maybe, exit below the clavicle at the sternal junction. No pulse or respiration at the scene, CPR in progress 4 minutes, first rhythm v fib, pads are on, ah, now." This voice was keeping measured time - the medic doing compressions then.

"Charge at 300, hold compressions, stand clear." The presumed doc again. _Th-thunk._ "Nothing. Again at 360." _Th-thunk._ "No pulse. Resume CPR. Pass me an ET tube and get an IV in for me."

A pause. Jess could hear footsteps scurrying about.

"I'm in. End tidal CO2 monitor looks good, bilateral breath sounds with bagging. Push an amp of epi and atropine. Still V fib, shocking again at 360, hold compressions, clear..." _Th-thunk._

"I've got accelerated junctional on the monitor, got a pulse with it?" The nurse.

"Got a carotid pulse. Stop CPR and get me a set of vitals. Hang an amiodarone drip, normal saline wide open, stat page trauma surgery and tell 'em we're on our way up. Tell respiratory we'll meet them there for the vent, just keep bagging for now. Kid's bleeding out, we can't wait on it. Nice job everybody."

Silence. Thirty minutes of silence now since they left with Sam. Thirty minutes that were longer than the twenty years she'd been alive.

Another two hours, new stitches accompanying the prior ones on the back of her head, the pounding behind her eyelids doing Morse code for the 1812 overture.

An hour and a half. Shuffled from the ER to the surgical waiting area. No longer really sure how long she'd been alive.

Additional hour. Probably longer - wall clock now joining conspiracy to stop time.

"Family of Sam Winchester?"

A matronly clerk in navy scrubs stood in the waiting room entrance, scanning the clusters of huddled families.

"Here." Jessica was startled by her own voice

The clerk walked over, sat beside Jess, taking one of her hands in her own. "You family love?"

"Yes. Well, actually, no. I'm his girlfriend. Please, I'm what he's got." Jess was afraid in that moment that no one would talk to her. Like this morning.

"Girlfriend, hmmm? Dr. Sheffield was looking for family, but let me see if he'll speak with you. Follow me."

Jessica found herself in something the door sign proclaimed the family room. An older nurse entered with a cup of coffee, handing it to Jess as she waited. "I brought you a set of scrubs if you want to change out of those clothes. Bathroom's right in there, doc's going to be a minute. You need anything, sweetie, you let me know."

Five minutes later she was mostly clean and sinking back into the ancient couch as the surgeon entered, looking like he needed the coffee more than she did.

"You're Jessica Moore?" He continued at her nod. "I really need to speak to Mr. Winchester's parents, but it seems all the emergency numbers he listed earlier today and with the school are for you."

"As you know, his heart stopped before we could get him into the emergency department and he had to have CPR. He had a second cardiac arrest during surgery as a result of low blood pressure from massive blood loss, but we were able to resuscitate him again. The bullet itself damaged the upper left lung and I removed a portion of that, it also ruptured the left subclavian artery, which is where the majority of the bleeding came from, as well as the third intracostal artery along his rib. He has some rib fractures, too. We're getting him settled in the surgical ICU right now, but I have to tell you that he is still very sick. If this hadn't happened practically in the hospital, he wouldn't have survived this long."

"Can I see him?" Jess wrapped her hands tighter around the coffee cup to hide the shaking.

"In a few minutes. Have you ever seen someone in the ICU before? You need to be ready for what he looks like. The equipment can be overwhelming if you're not used to it. Faye, the nurse that was here a few minutes ago, will go in with you and walk you through what you see. You have any questions for me?"

Jessica mutely shook her head, uncertain if she had no questions or a million. The jargon had washed over her in waves and her numbed brain wouldn't sort the portions she could translate from the phrases that meant nothing. Besides, none of it seemed to answer the one question she couldn't yet acknowledge.

"Okay then. Wait right here for Faye. And Ms. Moore, if you know how to contact his family, they should get here. Now." He gave her an awkward half smile and a squeeze on the shoulder, then turned and left the room.

That smile brought Jess's heart to her throat. Suddenly the coffee, the scrubs, the honey and sweetie all made sense. Day shift wasn't simply nicer than their nighttime counterparts had been. They were all trying to tell her Sam was going to die.

The sun had gone again as she found herself sitting beside Sam's bed. Faye had indeed walked her through the myriad of equipment, previously known to Jess only through too much daytime TV. The ET tube in his throat connected to the whirring ventilator beside his bed, the NG down his nose belonged with the hiss of the suction cannister on the wall behind his head. Both pieces of tubing seemed determined to claim some of whatever blood he had left, the vent tube settling for a small slosh in the low point of the tube with each breath, the nasogastric tube stealing far more into the now half full cannister. The true thief, though, was the burbling of the chest tube, an inch diameter monstrosity emerging from a mass of tape in the left side of his chest to a rapidly filling white rectangular box standing upright in the floor, incremented off like some macabre cookware. A drum cadence created by the cyclical inflation of the pumps wrapped around his feet accompanied the whole affair. It didn't seem that the flow of red blood descending from the bag on the pole to the central IV line in his neck stood much of a chance in the face of such competition, but the monitor overhead to continued to beep out heartbeats and flash blood pressures, whether in defiance of the inevitable or merely refereeing the muted cacophony, Jess didn't know.

"You can't leave me here, Sam, you just can't. I love you so much. I didn't even say thank you this morning. Awhh Sam please don't do this. I love you." Jessica brushed the back of her fingers tentatively along the side of his face. For the second time today she was seeing a glimpse of a Sam she had never met. Sadly, this one seemed unbelievably fragile. She whispered again to his unhearing ears. _I love you._

"Ms. Moore?" A soft hand on her shoulder startled her from sleep. Her head was resting on Sam's arm.

"Please, it's Jessica."

"Ok Jessica. His blood pressure is falling and I need for you to clear the room so we can try to stabilize him again, ok?" Jess didn't miss the 'this is a big problem and I'd rather not say that' tone. I'll come talk to you in a little bit." The nurse was not so gently leading her from the room.

"Wait. Are his things in there?" Jess nodded toward a small bag containing balled up fabric.

"I think so." The nurse gave her a perplexed look.

She snagged the bag on the way by, exiting the room just as all those bells and whistles took up a frantic tempo. Dr Sheffield pushed passed her, already barking indecipherable orders.

As soon as she sat in the waiting room, Jess began to paw through the bag, tears mingling with the russet stains on the clothes. Her hand emerged triumphant a moment later, cell phone firmly on her grasp. She'd seen Sam scroll through the numbers before, she was pretty sure it was here. Did she dare....

The button marked 'Dean' was on the top. 'Dad' was several places down. Maybe Dean was the lesser of two evils? In a year and a half, Sam used his name only once. She'd asked about his family when they were still in the small talk phase of dating. "My Mom died a long time ago. I have an older brother named Dean and Dad and I, well, that's all past and now I'm here. Rather not talk about it." And they hadn't.

She took a deep breath and pushed it.

Four rings and then voice mail. "This is Dean, leave a message."

"Umm, my name is Jessica Moore. I'm trying to reach Sam Winchester's brother Dean. Sam's in the hospital and he's pretty sick, there was a shooting. I know your family isn't close, but, well, I just thought you might want to know."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean flopped onto the bed and rolled over onto his stomach, not even bothering to shed the snowflake speckled heavy coat. Too bad he and John hadn't been hunting mummies. The hunters were wrapped up enough they could probably have just joined the clan or tribe or whatever the hell mummies would have if there were such a thing as mummies. Who knew West Virginia got this freakin' cold. Not like this werewolf was in Alaska. At least the thing was dead and tomorrow morning Sandstone Falls State Park and its drafty little cabin would be history. John was headed for North Carolina in the morning for a solo job, so Dean was hitting the open road, with plans to meet up in St. Louis in a week. _Maybe I'll stay here until then and see what that Rip Van Winkle guy had going on. I am so bloody tired_.

Chirp. _Damn. Is a little sleep too much to ask? _Chirp. _What the thunder is that?_ Chirp. _Hell, it's not going away._

Dean struggled to open one eye, seriously doubting the interruption was worth opening two. He finally recognized the chirp as his cell phone underneath his entire wardrobe, all of which he was wearing. _Fine, I'm up. Slept six minutes at least, wouldn't want to stagnate lounging around. _He sat up and began excavating the phone. _Dad's bed is still empty, musta forgot to tell me something_. _Hasn't time to piss anybody at the bar off. Well, he probably hasn't had time_.

Dean flipped the screen open, trying to focus on the small letters jumping about in an obvious attempt to provoke him. One missed call. _No, if I had missed it, genius Mr. ALexander Graham Bell, I'd still be asleep_. And then he saw the name. _Sam?_

Two years. He hadn't spoken to Sam in two years. Hadn't laid eyes on him in fifteen months, but Sam didn't know about that little spy mission. Hadn't mentioned Sam to anyone in three or four months now. Hadn't even thought about him in twenty, maybe thirty minutes.

_Could have called for a hundred reasons, doesn't have to be bad. Come on, just listen to the message already. Not a big a deal. Staring at phone ain't gonna help, not like anybody 'round here's psychic or something._

"Umm, my name is Jessica Moore. I'm trying to reach Sam Winchester's brother Dean. Sam's in the hospital and he's pretty sick; there was a shooting. I know your family isn't close, but, well, I just thought you might want to know."

_Not close? Sammy?_

Dean was throwing his duffel into the impala's trunk when his Dad pulled up in the truck.

"Dad, grab your gear, we have to go." Even in the moonlight Dean looked pale.

"What're you talking about?" John's voice was gravelled, more than ready for some sleep.

"Some chick called from Stanford. Sammy got shot. We have to go. Now." Dean was already back in the room gathering his father's things.

"Dean, hold up there. You sure it's that bad?" John's beard did a fairly good job of hiding his own sudden palor.

"That bad? Shot, Dad. Sam. Got. Shot. We gotta go." Dean's ran a hand over his face, bewildered by his father's hesitation.

"Dean, it's 2500 miles. Whatever happens will be over long before we could get there. I have a job to get to in the morning and that's what I'm going to do. Sam made his choice, and it wasn't us."

"He didn't choose Dad! You threw him out!" Good soldier rules be damned if it meant abandoning Sam.

"Dean, this subject is closed. I'll be in St. Louis to meet you in six days. You gonna be on time?" John glowered at his older son.

"No. Sir." Dean pulled away, leaving his father standing in the dark.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I64W Kentucky - Gas. Hot dog. Coffee.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean, take your brother and go!" A tiny fist wrapped around his finger as he carried Sam out of their burning house, away from whatever childhood had been scheduled for one Dean Winchester. An infant Sam couldn't know his mother was dying in the flames soaring behind them, couldn't know their father was forever changed. Dean knew. Even at four he somehow knew. Sammy's mine now. _

I64W Illinois - Gas. Cheesburger. M&M's.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?" _

_A three year old Sam standing beside his bed, battered bear stuffed under one arm, small blanket clapsed in the opposite hand._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"Can I sleep in your bed? There's wolves."_

_Dean smiled and pulled back the blanket, holding a rounded elbow to make it easier for Sam's short legs to scramble into the bed. "You scared, Sammy?"_

_A quick shake of the shaggy head, belied by saucer sized eyes. "M'not, Dean! Teddy, though, Teddy is scared."_

_"Umm-hmm. Tell Teddy it's just the wind outside, ok?"_

_"Mm-kay, Dean. I'm gonna stay here. If he forgets after I'm sleepin', you can tells him, kay?" _

I70W Missouri - Gas. Coffee. Bathroom. More coffee.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?" _

_Dean's pencil was snatched out of his hand, second grade homework irrelevant to his baby brother._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"Do old people die?"_

_Dean pushed Sam's hair out of his eyes, surprised by the serious look on the four year old's face._

_"Sooner or later, I guess."_

_"Mommy wasn't old."_

_"No. No, she wasn't." _

_"Why'd she leave me?"_

_"She didn't want to Sammy. She loved us a lot, ok?"_

_"Ok." Sammy tipped his face up to study his brother, chewing on his lip to still a tremble there._

_"Dean?"_

_Sigh. "Yeah Sammy?"_

_"You promise to be old when you die?"_

_"I promise, Sammy, I promise."_

I29N Iowa - Coffee. M&M's. Gas.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?"_

_A pair of sneakers was dangling an inch from his nose._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"Can you show me again?"_

_"Sure." Dean bent to untie his own shoe, feeling Sam's breath on his neck. He made a loop out of one of the strings. "Stand the first soldier up at attention. The second one creeps around the perimeter, then he bolts down in the foxhole. First one yanks him tight and he's captured. One tied up shoe!"_

_A ear splitting grin as Sam's chubby fingers mirrored the manuever. "Gottcha!"_

IA-2W Nebraska - Donuts. Bathroom. Coffee. Gas. Coffee.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?"_

_The name was almost unrecognizable between wheezed gasps._

_"Yeah Sammy?" Dean made a monumental effort to stop laughing._

_"Let me up!"_

_"No."_

_"Yes!"_

_"You hit me over the head with a pillow, as I recall. I was just making your lunch." The room was coated in feathers, and compliments of the handful of peanut butter Dean had smeared down his face, so was an eight year old Sam._

_"But you're bigger than me. Let me up!"_

_"Course I'm bigger than you, I'm the big brother, you're the runt, forever."_

I80W Utah - Bathroom. M&Ms. Coffee. Coffee.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?"_

_Damn, he looks worse than I do, just grit your teeth Dean._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"Not sure I can do this. It'll hurt."_

_"You're not gonna hurt me, kiddo. You've seen Dad do it, you'll be fine."_

_Sam gave another dubious look at the suture kit and the three inch gash in his brother's arm._

_"I don't know..."_

_"For Chrissakes Sam, you're eleven years old. Just do it already." John's voice boomed in from the shower._

_The eight crooked stitches took an hour, including two breaks for puking, both on Sam's part. Dean never flinched._

_"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm never doing this again. I know I hurt you."_

_"Sam?"  
_

_"You'll do it again. Better next time. It gets easier, ok?"_

I880S California - Gas. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?"_

_Finally. He's been brooding an hour._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"You know Candace Poole?"_

_"Redhead in your class, green eyes, five two, probably a hundred pounds, likes ponytails and tight blue sweaters. No, not really, why?"_

_"I'm not real sure what to do."_

_"With her? I've got several ideas on what to do, Sam."_

_"Dean! Geeze, it's ninth grade. No, I just had a problem with her in English class."_

_"What, a she doesn't understand the profound depths of joy in complex sentence diagramming kind of problem or a she won't give me the time of day because I'm such a geek boy problem?"_

_"No, a she just up and kissed me out of the blue kind of problem." _

_"Please tell me that's not the first time that's happened, Samantha. Sounds like my first ideas were right on target. You want those in alphabetical order or by degree of difficulty?"_

US101 S to San Jose

_I know you're not close_

_"Dean?"_

_A million words hung in the air and none of them were gonna stop Dean's world from ending._

_"Yeah Sammy?"_

_"You know I have to go, right?"_

_"Yeah. Just, Dad didn't mean it, Sam. Not the way it sounded anyway. Let me talk to him again."_

_"No. I'm done. Give me a ride to the bus station or don't, Dean. I'm outta here tonight either way."_

_"Get in." The drive was nearly silent, too long and too brief at the same time._

_"Sam..."_

_"It's ok, Dean. This was always between Dad and me. Thanks for the ride."_

_Dean took another look at the brother he'd raised, huffed out a sigh. A last look? "I'm proud of you Sammy. Go show 'em whatcha got."_

_"I'll miss you too, Dean." Sam swallowed hard, long legs jerkily swinging him into the waiting bus. "Goodbye."_

Middlefield Rd. Palo Alto.

_I know you're not close_

_You're wrong Jessica Moore, whoever you are, and you better not have let my brother die._


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone for the reviews! This is certainly not the first time I've posted, but it is the first time I've posted here, so I really appreciate the response. On with chapter 4!

xxxx

The florescent lights glinted off sleek black metal and chrome, the driver walking around the rear of the vehicle he had parked in service entry of the hospital. The car truly was too long to park here, but it was late enough that he didn't care. Why was it always two a.m. when he pulled into a hospital anyway? Guess that part didn't matter. He sighed, scratching fingers through his short grey hair. _Sooner I take care of this, sooner I can get some sleep._

Dean pulled into the hospital lot, heart skipping a beat at the sight of the gleaming hearse under the winter haloed lights. _Come on, Winchester, there's five hundred patients in there, that's not for Sam. Can't have gotten here too late...._

A second man joined the driver as the glass hospital doors slid open, pushing out a gurney draped in a deep burgundy velvet. With practiced familiarity they transferred their charge into the waiting vehicle, the velvet cover never slipping to reveal the form beneath. A rumble of an engine and they were gone.

_Ok, pretty much gonna have to let go of the steering wheel to get in there, Dean. Great, talking to myself here. Wouldn't be talking to myself if Sam's ass were in that passenger seat where it belongs. Yeah, yeah I would. Not like I'd be telling my little brother that I think I may be permanently afraid of velvet blankies now. Fearless. Yep that's me. Give me a werewolf, I'm good to go. Make me get out of my own car and walk up to a reception desk, not so much._

His feet finally made the trip to the information desk, confronting a drowsy looking clerk.

"May I help you?"

"Hope so. I'm looking for..." _Crap, what name would Sam have used?_ _Maybe I could ask for this Jessica Moore? But what if she's some sort of school administrator or something? Wouldn't be here at this hour. No, from her voice she knows Sam, knows him well. Still, Ms. Desk Clerk here isn't going to have visitor names._ And then it finally hit him. Sam wasn't part of his underground hiding out world any more. If Sam was still here, _please, please let him be here_, it would be as Sam. "Sam, Sam Winchester."

The clerk gave him a quizzical look at the pause, but began tapping at the keyboard. An eyebrow rose. "I'm sorry, but that patient has restricted information. Family only."

_Restricted? _Dean nodded, producing the only piece of plastic in his bulging wallet that was printed with the words Dean Winchester. "I'm his brother."

She peered at Kansas driver's license and nodded. "Take the silver elevator at the end of the hall to the fourth floor, get out the rear door and turn right. ICU is all the way to the end. You'll need to check in at the desk."

Dean gave her a tight lipped nod. ICU wasn't what he wanted to hear.

The second desk clerk looked as bored as the first, at least until she took the offered ID. "Winchester, huh? I heard he didn't have any family, just the girlfriend. He's in room eight, but next visiting time isn't until 7am. Here you go, times and ICU policies are all in the pamphlet."

Dean automatically took the offered blue paper, shoving it into his jacket. He had no intention of leaving without seeing Sam right now. The clerk was young, if he'd had the energy for a smile, he'd have been past the desk already. He stilled the trembling inside him. Probably just all that coffee. "I just drove thirty-five hours straight to get here. I. am. not. waiting. for. seven. a. m." Dean generally prefered charm to intimidation, at least with the ladies, but at the moment he just wanted in Sam's room.

She sized up the man before her, looking at him for the first time. Exhausted, angry, a little desperate. Trouble in a big way. "You're gonna cost me my job, you know that? Look, five minutes and then you go back out to our waiting room. His girlfriend's out there, she can fill you in." She took another long look at Dean as he turned toward the indicated room, and found she was now talking to the back of a worn leather jacket. "And don't make me call hospital security to get you out of there!"

Dean let the sounds of the room seep in as he edged closer to the bed, the pale form there giving no indication that it still held the ceaseless energy, the nonstop curiosity, or hell the just plain fidgetyness that was Sam. How could this have happened? This wasn't some hunt gone bad. This is where Sam had escaped to be normal, safe. And Dean had let him go. Left him unprotected. Somehow bought in to Sam's idea that he was leaving the danger of their lives behind. Sure Dean had been on ER trips with Sam before, even a couple of overnight hospital stays, but this was the first time he'd seen his brother rendered helpless, invaded by tubes and dependent on strangers for his very breath. _Oh God Sammy. I left you alone and look at you. Don't you die._

In the end the clerk shouldn't have worried about her five minute time limit. Dean was bolting for bathroom retching in just under three.

He gave up on splashing water on his face and finally stuck his whole head under the ice cold tap, grabbing a handful of papertowels as he straightened up. _Get it together already._ A glance in the mirror wasn't particularly reassuring. He took another swipe at his stubbled face and marched out the door.

There were more people in the waiting area than you might expect for the hour, most dozing, a few looking up expectantly at Dean and then deflating as they realized he had no news to offer their families. Only three people were alone, two of those younger women, both asleep. He looked at both, the first a brunette with classical features, pretty in a demure, studious sort of way. Probably right up Sam's alley. The other, well, that was another matter. Willowy with waves of blonde hair, a face that was beautiful even with the livid bruises marring china doll skin. The kind of girl that had always reduced Sam's vocabulary to four or five words, made him flounder to come up with his own name. The kind of girl Dean would be all over. Except.... Except.... Dean couldn't shake the feeling that this was Jessica. Maybe Sam was learning something at this school after all.

One way to find out. Dean walked over to where she slept, curled on her side against the grey tweed chair back, knees pulled up under her chin. He squatted down to eye level, a habit he'd picked up when Sam was a child. Looked less imposing that way. A tentative hand tapped her knee. "Jessica Moore?"

The effect was instantaneous. The name Sam slipped from her lips, but her eyes shot open, catching site of a stranger ten inches away. Her knees pulled in tighter if possible, posture tense and wary. "Leave me alone."

"Hey, easy. You _are_ Jessica?" Life with Sam did provide you with certain freak out prevention techniques. "It's ok. I'm Dean. Sam's brother."

"Dean." She stared at him a minute, then dug out a wallet from the gym bag at her feet. Sam's wallet. She fished out a picture and looked at it, then across to the man before her, slowly nodding. "You decided to show up."

"Of course I showed up. I tried calling Sam's phone about three hundred times on the way here, why didn't you answer it? Had me thinking Sam was d-de...." Dean made an effort to rein in his frustration. "Anyway, what the hell's going on?"

"The police have it."

"What?"

"The police. You've heard of them? They took Sam's phone. Sorry it interfered with you calling for the first time in two years." Jess uncoiled herself in the chair, surprised she'd let her fears loose on Sam's brother. Really wasn't her style. "Look, I wasn't sure you'd come. Sam's, ah, pretty quiet about his family. Not really sure what I should say."

"You mean you're not sure what Sam would want me to know." _Damn. She's protecting Sam...from me._ "Look, I can't back this up right now, but what you think about our family....you're not right. Sam and I... I'd do anything for Sam." Dean's jaw tightened at thought of his brother in that bed. "Putting him on the bus out here was the worst day of my life, and there have been some humdingers to pick from, believe me. Staying away from him was supposed to make things better, give him a chance to be himself. I thought I was taking care of him. If I could take his place in there right now, I would."

Jess was caught in the jade green eyes, seeing far more there than a moment should be able to convey. She finally broke the gaze, studying her shoes instead. "I believe you. Truce and start again?"

Dean considered the flare of temper her words had provoked and decided it was worry and exhaustion. Maybe a jealous pang. "Truce. You ready to tell me what's going on?"

The story tumbled forth in jerky bits, Jessica speeding up as the blonde, no, he's Pullman she reminded herself, the police said his name was Mark Pullman, grabbed her.

_"I fell when he hit me, hit the pavement too hard, couldn't get up. The other two pinned my hands, Pullman had a knife in his hand all the sudden, he was... uhh, he was unzipping my skirt. He... well..... he was going to... and then.... uhh... Sam was just... there. I never heard him until the step before he jerked him off me by the hair and threw him into the brick wall of the bar. Pullman took a lunge at him with that knife, but Sam kicked it out of his hand somehow, pushed him against the wall again and started pummeling him. _

_One of the others jumped on Sam's back, wrapped an arm around his throat choking him. I was screaming at him; I don't think Sam ever heard me. He was so angry. He's never angry.... He threw his elbow back, hit the guy in the stomach with it, knocked the wind out of him. Guess that loosened his hold on Sam's neck, because then Sam pulled his arm loose, twisted it around. I heard it snap, couldn't believe it. I think that's when the third one took off running. _

_I kept trying to get up, go get help.... but I was so dizzy.... The one that tried to choke Sam, well after his arm broke he didn't get back up.... kind of laid there on the ground, curled up over his arm rocking. But Pullman, he was still on his feet...._

_He'd gotten a few punches in while Sam was dealing with the other one, let him slip past him and grab me again.....was trying to pull me up in front of him before Sam could turn around, but he was too slow. Sam kicked him again, came around from the side and took his legs right out from under him. The guy was laying there on the pavement and Sam had a knife at his throat. Told him never to come near me again.....He pulled it out of his boot, Dean.....Sam......My Sam had a knife in a sheath in his boot. Why the hell would it be there? I could see Pullman's face. He thought Sam was going to slit his throat. Guy was begging him not to kill him. _

_I couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. For a minute it wasn't Sam... I thought ... well I'm not sure what I thought. Then Sam grabbed a fistful of his hair, slammed his head backward into the asphalt, knocked him out.....Think I fainted."_

Jess looked up with a start, quickly swiping a tear away as she remembered she had an audience. "Where did he learn that Dean? I'm not ungrateful, but I've never seen anybody fight like that, much less Sam. He'd never hurt a fly. Do you have any idea where that came from?"

Dean didn't know exactly how close Sam was to this girl, but their past was obviously a mystery to her. _Guess I've never seen him hurt a fly, specifically..."_Yeah, I've got a few guesses." Now that he'd gotten her talking there was no need to provide details. "So far I don't see Sam as the one in the hospital. Then what?"

"Oh, those two did end up in the hospital. One of then is still here, had a splenectomy." She caught a sudden nervous look from Dean, misinterpreted it completely. "Don't worry, the police are outside his room. "But Pullman died in surgery a few hours after we all got here. Police said he bled into his brain."

_Shit, Sammy killed him. Ok, I would have too in the same circumstances, but Sam? _"And?"

"And, Sam and I were both ready to leave here the next morning and we walked out to the car. Almost made it too. Sam must have heard the cocking of the gun. He tackled me just as it hit him." Jess spent the next half an hour describing the events of the last three days in as much detail as either of them could stomach.

"The docs aren't sure now. They say the gunshot wound itself should heal up ok, but his blood pressure got so low from blood loss and the two codes that it created some organ damage. Now I'm supposed to be sitting out here waiting to see if he wakes up. Sometime yesterday afternoon they started giving me the 'need to be ready in case he doesn't' speech. I remember that from my grandfather's stroke. It's like a four day plan. First day you get all the mumbo explanations of what happened, then you get the 'this may not go well' day, third day out everyone gets so nice to you you just want to scratch their eyes out while they're telling you not to hope, fourth day and you're saying goodbye. Tomorrow's day four, Dean and I can't say goodbye to Sam. I love him."

_She loves him. Humphfff. Sam really did build himself a life here. _"No one's saying goodbye to my brother, Jessica. We'll wait it out together. He will get better, you hear me?" He took her hand to soften the firm tone of his words.

She nodded, didn't pull away at his touch this time. Dean traced a tear down her cheek, wiping his thumb against his jeans. She was crying, but it wasn't the hysterical sobbing Dean might have predicted. She'd been through hell the last few days, but there was resolve in her clear blue eyes, a determination to see Sam through this. _I know now what Sam sees in this girl, and it's not the pretty blonde curls._

_But why did Sam's last word to me have to be goodbye?_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!! I'm glad I decided to revisit this story and get it posted here and I appreciate the encouragement. This is a little memory before the action of the story resumes, but I thought it added a bit of insight. I hope I hear from you.

Chap 5

Nothing changed the following day, Jess and Dean alternately spending what little time ICU visiting hours permitted at Sam's bedside. The surgery resident updated them around two o'clock, pleased he finally had family to speak with. Dean had little time to appreciate his newly important status. Apparently family meant he could make the decision to turn the ventilator off and let Sam go. _No way in hell._

The hospital chaplain appeared an hour later, clearly sent to smooth ruffled feathers. Dean liked his feathers the way they were just fine, thank you.

"Dean?" Jessica once again sat beside him on the grey seats of the waiting area.

Pale grey-white walls, grey tweed furniture, steel blue-grey flecked carpets. _Yeah, 'cause everybody's so frickin' happy to be here to start with. Grey's perfect. Wonder if the prozac's free. _"What?"

"You've gotta be beat; you've been up for days. We can't get back in there for two hours and the next visiting time's my turn anyway." She dug in the gym bag, then held out a set of keys. "Why don't you go get a shower, sleep a few hours? It's no more than ten minutes from here and I'll call you if anything happens."

"I can't leave him here."

"You wouldn't be leaving him. I'm here, not like he's alone. You need the sleep."

Unfortunately she was right. He took the keys and the hastily scribbled directions. "Sam's place?"

"Umm-hmm. And mine." She smiled a tired smile, not sure how Dean would react to that tidbit of information.

"Oh."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean's first thought as he wandered the small apartment was it was more Jessica's than Sam's, full of little decorating touches he didn't recognize. Course, how would he know. They'd spent their lives in motels, the occasional furnished apartment. What Sam's actual taste in living arrangements might be, well, no clue on that one. Although he was at least suspicious that the saber on one wall wasn't Jessica's selection. It was a one bedroom, one bath; the table beside the queen bed containing a mix of their things. Guess that answers the how close is Sam to this girl question. Just as well. After talking to her at the hospital for the last eighteen hours it was obvious she was every bit as crazy about Sam, even if she was a little freaked right now.

He threw the damp towel on the bathroom floor and took another look at the carmel toned bed, then wrinkled his nose and opted for the couch. He wouldn't sleep as long there anyhow ......Couldn't hurt to set an alarm though.

Two hours later a buzzsaw was doing its darndest to slice through his skull. Or more accurately two hours and fourteen minutes later. It took him that long to hear the nerve grating stridor of the clock. He scrubbed his eyes open with the heels of his hands, remembering at last where he was.... and why. _Awwh Sam..._

None of the conversation with Jessica hinted to Dean that there was anything supernatural about this situation. He actually agreed with the policeman he had spoken to that the shooter was most likely the third attacker from the alley, but he needed to be sure. Sure that nothing had followed Sam from one life to the next. Besides, agreeing with the police was just plain old bad form as far as he was concerned. Funny, Dean had shuffled through a lot of places uninvited in the course of his job, but it felt weird to be doing it here - in his brother's apartment. He shook off the vibe and started to search the living quarters in earnest.

An hour later he had only one out of place piece. A footlocker under the bed. Despite the term, it seemed odd that the thing was actually locked. Nothing else in the house suggested Sam or Jess made any attempt at personal space. So which one of them needed a box to themselves, somewhere to stash secrets? Yeah - three guesses on that one. And if he was wrong and this was Jessica's private treasure trove? Well, not like he hadn't been through her underwear drawer already. Twice. Dean squatted and picked the lock.

Definitely not hers. Folding back a layer of black cloth revealed a pair of hunting knives, three others more suitable for throwing, and an antique book of latin excorcism rites, the later a present from Dean for Sam's sixteenth birthday. A bag of rock salt. A photo of their old house, their mother sitting on the front step, a more recent one of Sam and Dean beside a lake. A flask of holy water. There was no photo of their father.

Dean rocked back on his heels, running his hand across his mouth. Was Sam using any of this? He looked at the dust he'd disturbed, the clingy coating still on his fingers.

This box hadn't been disturbed in months. Everything Sam needed to at least protect his home, all carefully hidden away. _Dammit Sammy, how's it gonna help you in here? Relying on the tooth fairy instead?_

He was closing it again when he saw the papers inside the trunk lid. These weren't dusty at all. Curious, Dean tugged them loose. Receipts. They were receipts. One a month for the last four months for two hundred dollars to someplace called Carbelli's. _Huh. What's that about Sam? _He replaced them inside the lid, making note of the address.

Twenty minutes later, and Sam's computer gave up its battle, surrendering to the last of the string of increasingly obscure passwords Dean had tried. At first the laptop provided nothing of use in regards to the shooting, but it did clear up the receipt mystery. No need to drive out there guns blazing after all. Carbelli's was a jewelry store. Sam was making payments on a ring. _Well, damn. He always did know to go after what he wants._

Dean shook his head. This wasn't the time to worry about Sam proposing and ending up with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. He turned back to the laptop, changing tactics to researching Mark Pullam. A few creative tricks later and a series of police reports were there for the asking. _Learned that looking over Sam's shoulder actually, but I'm so not telling him that. _Pullam was almost always with his kid brother when he got into trouble. Since his brother wasn't the one still in the hospital, this Todd Pullman was almost certainly the shooter. He was also someone Dean very much wanted to pay a visit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jessica leaned in and kissed Sam on the shoulder, careful not to dislodge the myriad of wires and tubes, before settling in the chair beside his bed. "Dean went to get some sleep, but he'll be back soon, ok? He's not what I expected, you know. I thought your family must be awful somehow when you wouldn't talk about them, but I like him. He's a little rough around the edges maybe. Listening to him talk about you though, he loves you, Sam. Why didn't you tell me? If this is about your Dad, we can figure it out. I think it must be your Dad, Dean hasn't mentioned him either. He won't say much of anything about your past really. When ya gonna let me in on the rest of your life, hmm? There's nothing that could make me not love you, you know that. Come on Sam, time to wake up and talk to me, okay?"

She stood again, unable to stiffle the urge to brush brown locks from his forehead. It was a gesture Sam inevitably ducked when he was awake, but when he was asleep... Well, what he didn't know as the saying goes. As she leaned over the bed rail again the button of her sweater caught in the joint of the ivory plastic, elicting a small chuckle that almost masked the sob beneath it. "I've still got too many buttons, huh?"

_It had been a warm evening, Jess remembered flinging every top she owned on the bed in disgust trying to choose something other than the white eyelet tank. That one was perfect for the sultry weather, but Sam had seen it before. Callie laughed from her side of the room._

_"Just wear that, Jess, he's a man; he probably wouldn't notice if you wore it everyday for a month." _

_"Thanks a lot! I'd like to think he at least sort of knows what I look like by now, Callie. I've been going out with him three months." Jess wrinkled her nose in distaste at a lime green blouse, holding it out like a dead rodent._

_"I've seen that dopey look on his face, he definitely knows what you look like. I'm just saying I don't think the shirt's a big factor in the attraction. Besides, didn't he say he wanted to stay in tonight? He made it real clear to me that Phil and I should get lost. Doesn't sound to me like you're staying in that shirt anyway!" Callie raised her eyebrows and smirked at her friend._

_"Callie!" Jess looked mortified. "He just said that because Phil is an absolute jerk to him. You know that. Date him if you want, but Phil hates anyone smarter than he is. It's not like that with Sam, anyway."_

_"It's not like what with Sam?" Callie had a startling thought. "You mean you don't, um well? ...Oh. Really? It's been three months Jess, and the boy is hot, I sort of assumed..."_

_"Well, you assumed wrong." Jess shrugged into the eyelet top and started on the row of buttons down the front. _

_"So you and Sam haven't ever, you know?" Callie found this a fascinating topic._

_"Me and anybody haven't ever you know, Callie. Now help me pick up the rest of this mess; he'll be here in like ten minutes."_

_Twelve minutes later Callie was gone and Sam was on the doorstep, dimpled smile flashed over the flowers in his hands. Hmm, never brought flowers before..._

_Jess found that she'd lost track of the movie early on. It wasn't that it was a bad movie, one of the old classics Sam always seemed to find, just that he seemed a little off, waiting somehow. She snugged in closer to his shoulder, letting her head fall back against his chest. She smiled as he pushed the mass of her curls aside, the kiss that had started on her cheek trailing slowly down the back of her neck. Pulling in a contented breath, she twisted around to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. He bent to her lips, warm hands against her back as she returned the kisses. She loved the feel of Sam's hands._

_She gasped a little as the fingers that had been entwined in her hair crossed forward over her shoulder, traced the strap of the tank to the barely visible curve of her breast. He must have heard it, paused in his feather soft exploration of her skin. She caught his fingers in hers, kissing them before closing her eyes. Felt his fingers skim over her neck, again at the edge of the top. She froze as she felt the top button open, realized that while her own breathing had stopped, Sam's was picking up tempo. She thought she might fall into the hazel pools of his eyes, the cliche' suddenly making perfect sense. The moment was perfect until that telltale eighth and final button. The one his fingers couldn't quite get. The one that fell to the tiled floor and rolled under the dresser with an amazing amount of clatter for such a little thing. _

_Spell broken, Sam turned a sheepish grin on Jess. "Sorry." The grin turned into a softly snorted laugh._

_"Sam, I.." Jess bit her lip as a laugh escaped her as well, blue eyes lit from within. "The thing had too many buttons anyway."_

_"Yeah." _

_She saw his expression change again, felt his thumb trace the edge of her jaw. When he spoke again, his voice had a huskier timber._

_"No buttons is simpler." His t-shirt disappeared over his head and behind the couch in a single handed pull._

_"Guess so." Her hands sought the muscles of his chest, lips nuzzled kisses behind his ear. She was surprised when he pulled back from her, deftly trapping both her hands in one of his._

_"Jess?" Those eyes found hers yet again, question puddling in their depths. "I don't want leave tonight."_

_She took a deep breath, slipping her hands free to cup his face, aware of exactly what he was asking. "So stay."_

_He didn't say another word, strong arms winding behind her shoulders and beneath her knees as he carried her to the bedroom. The Summer of '42 would just have to finish watching itself._

"Ms. Moore?"

Jessica was startled out of the memory, turning to face the nurse.

"Visiting time is over, hon. You need to go back out to the waiting room, ok? Oh, and if you could let his brother know, Sam's neurologist would like to meet with both of you in the morning, around nine?"

"Nine's fine. I'll make sure Dean is here."_  
_


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey Sam. Sun's up, has been for an hour or two now. You still sleepin'?" Dean melted into the plastic hospital chair, ghosting his fingers over Sam's resolutely closed eyes.

"Yeah. Still sleeping. I kinda figured lazybones. So, this neurologist guy.... you two gettin' along ok? He'll be here in an hour; we're gonna have some sort of pow wow. Not sure I'm too keen on the idea, really. Not that finding out what's in your freaky head won't be a brave new frontier in medical science, mind you. You gotta help me out here though, wake up just a little. Right now I'm pretty much flyin' by the seat of my pants and these docs? They're asking me to…to…crap, can't even say it, much less think about it. You wake up and we'll both deny this little conversation ever happened, ok? I don't know how to do this, Sammy."

Dean suddenly kicked the chair aside, opting for the more familiar comfort of pacing. He stopped every few steps to brush Sam's hair back, or look at the heartbeats blur past on the monitor, or refold the edge of the sheet; waiting for some response from his brother. There wasn't any.

At ten minutes after nine he found himself sitting at the ICU conference room table, Jess in the chair opposite, both of them waiting for a Dr. Sawter. Normally, sitting staring at a leggy blonde wouldn't exactly be an imposition for Dean, but staring at Sam's blonde under these circumstances wasn't the same. Not even close. Maybe this Sawter could just hurry the heck up already.

"Mr. Winchester?" A strawberry blonde man about Dean's size but at least twice his age walked rapidly into the room, extending his hand first to Dean and then to Jessica. "I'm Dr. Sawter, the neurologist that's been seeing your brother. I know you've spoken with the surgeons previously, but I wanted to meet with you directly. I'm sure you have questions."

His manner was easy going, carefully crafted to put you at ease. Unfortunately, Dean knew the maneuver from using it too often himself. _Not buyin' it, doc._

"Why don't you just give me your take on how Sam is?" Dean schooled his face away from nervous and into his best don't-screw-with-me glare.

"You're a straightforward one, hmm? Ok, I prefer that myself." This smile was much more sincere. "Your brother has a combination of what's called metabolic encephalopathy, most likely secondary to hepatorenal syndrome and anoxic encephalopathy...."

"Uh, English anybody?"

The doctor shook his head. Kid was covering a world o' hurt with that attitude. "I was getting there, son. Metabolic encephalopathy is a nebulous term really, means that some illness that didn't start out with the brain is causing depressed brain function, which can range anywhere from a bit drowsy and confused all the way to where Sam is now. In his case that other underlying illness is the hepatorenal syndrome, or the kidneys and liver not functioning well because they didn't get enough blood flow when he was injured. It sometimes more colorfully gets called shock liver. The kidneys and liver pretty much clean all the natural toxins out of our systems. If they're not working, all of that junk can act as a natural sedative and you basically get a comatose state. Anoxic encephalopathy is a more direct injury to the brain from brain tissue itself not getting enough oxygen during the codes."

Dean digested that a moment. _Still not English, but we might be sneaking up on it. _"Any of that stand a snowball's chance of getting better?"

The older man peered from beneath overly bushy eyebrows, stalling while he decided if the youth before him wanted an honest answer. Probably not, but the look on his face suggested the doc might not live long if he went with a cheery lie. He sighed, leaving both false optimism and medical babble behind. "Yes and no. Any direct injury to the brain is unlikely to get better at this point. The indirect problem, though, well, if the kidneys and liver get better, the brain may follow. I have to say I was a little surprised by Sam's labs this morning. His renal function is starting to turn the corner."

"So your saying he's better." _Sure as hell didn't look better._

"No. His kidneys are better, there's a difference. Until this metabolic sedation issue completely goes away, there's no telling what the underlying brain function is like. I'm not trying to give you false hope, but I know the surgeons spoke to you about withdrawing ventilator support. I'm not completely convinced we're there yet. I may come back to you in a few days and tell you that it's time to do that, but for now, I say we wait."

"Of course we wait-" Dean was still rolling the words around in his skull.

"Mr. Winchester - Dean - don't say that like it's obvious. I didn't say he'll get better. As matter of fact I suspect he won't, but there's a small chance and given his young age and previously healthy state, I'm willing to be proven wrong. I sincerely hope that's what happens. Both of you, though, need to give some thought to what sort of life Sam would be willing to accept."

"What do you mean?" Dean imbued the words with an implied threat. Sawter may as well get used to that whole being wrong concept.

"We'll talk more in a few days if he doesn't change." The doctor paused, looking the hunter square in the eye. "But dying isn't the worst thing that can happen to someone...."

Dean broke the stare first. _Why'd you have to come up with the one sentence I might believe, doc...._

Jess looked at Dean and then turned to the doctor, aware of the tension between the two men. It was time to ask her own question. "If he wakes up, is he still going to be Sam?" Somehow the beautifully quick mind struggling for coherent thought was worse to contemplate than the current war his body was waging for air.

"That, I can't answer." Dr. Sawter turned and left the room.

Dean inclined his head toward the door. "More waiting, well that's just peachy. Not my strong suit. Come on, Jess, I'll buy you some coffee." He needed to get up and move around, find an outlet for the adrenaline he'd had waiting for an argument that never materialized. It never occurred to him he wouldn't need to shout the doctor down about giving Sam a chance.

"Okay, but only if you actually eat something with the caffeine." Jess tried her best no nonsense smile, perhaps it worked on all Winchesters.

They piddled away the morning in the hospital cafeteria, inventing new ways to waste time until the noon visiting hour arrived. Dean carefully steered the conversation back to Jessica and her life growing up, the sister that would start UCLA in the fall, the friends she shared with Sam. By afternoon there was genuine warmth between them. Dean hated to admit it, but he could see Sam spending a lifetime with her. _Assuming he gets a lifetime…._

That particular thought, combined with seven hours of sleep in the last five days and innumerable gallons of coffee, was probably the tipping point for Dean's frayed nerves. Looking back on it, he was never quite sure. One minute, he was deflecting questions about Sam's life before college like he'd been doing all day. Like he'd been doing all his life. The next minute, well…at least Jess's wheedle for information started out the same...

"Come on Dean, what? It's your Dad, isn't it? He can't be that bad looking at the two of you. So you didn't have a silver spoon upbringing, so what? What could be so bad?" Her smile was bright, suggesting curiosity, nothing more.

"What could be so bad!? What makes you think you're ready to know?"

Jess was taken aback by the harder edge to Dean's tone.

"That fight in the street, you said it wasn't Sam? Well it was. It was everything my Dad and I forced him to be. Everything he escaped to come here. Did you know Sam could fire a gun by the time he was eight? I taught him never to miss a bull's eye with a bow at ten, to throw a knife at twelve. Yelled at him to hike three miles out of the woods on a broken foot at thirteen because Dad needed me on point instead of schlepping his hurt butt around. Dad told him it wasn't broken that badly, just suck it up. 'You just gonna lay there and die?' was _not_ a rhetorical question growing up. It's not a life Sam ever wanted, but he was damn good at it. If he doesn't want to serve that up on a platter for you to gawk at, don't make him!"

"B-but why on earth..." Jess had no idea where the outburst had come from, or how to respond to it.

Dean was standing with his back to her now, corded muscle visibly tensed in his neck. _Can't believe I just did that to Sam. To her__..._ He made himself unclench his fists, walk back over to their table.

"Look, Jess, I'm sorry. Hell, if you knew me better you'd know that saying sorry was as out of character as that speech. We just didn't grow up like everyone else. Maybe not like anyone else. Sam's entitled to a different life if that's what he wants."

She swallowed slowly, trying to fit together a jigsaw that suddenly had too many pieces. "Of course Sam deserves whatever life he wants. I don't know what to say, I didn't know. I'm not sure what I thought, but it wasn't that…" She stopped, realizing the rambling wasn't making much sense. Reining in her surprise, she tried again. "I didn't ask to gawk, Dean. I thought he might miss you, might need his family.....He'll tell me when he's ready. And I also think," she looked at Dean with a new understanding in her eyes, "that if that was Sam's childhood, it must have been yours, too."

"Mine?" Dean shrugged and intently contemplated his coffee cup. "Not a big deal. Anyway. Why don't you hold the fort here? I've got a few things to do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean picked up the notes from the front seat of the impala, comparing them with the Palo Alto map he'd borrowed from Sam's desk. Todd Pullman, not surprisingly, was not at his last known address, but Dean had several plausible leads. He'd eliminated three of the five by nightfall. Guess it couldn't hurt to grab an hour's sleep before tackling the warehouse one. Pulling into Jessica's parking space, he headed into the apartment.

It was more like three hours later when he emerged again, sliding into the familiar leather of the front seat. The pile of notes caught his eye. _I could have sworn I refolded that map.... and there's a paperclip in the floorboard.... _He took careful stock of his car, then got out and circled to the rear. A quick glance confirmed no one was nearby. Popping the trunk he surveyed the weapons stash there, everything in its place. _Great, getting too tired here, Winchester, imagining things..._

He backed his baby onto the road, Metallica assaulting his sleep numbed mind, thumb idly tapping the .45 at his side.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd seen the impala leave the apartment complex for the second time, driving out toward an old warehouse the notes in the leather seat had carefully detailed. Seen the young man tuck a gun in his coat before closing the lid of the trunk. The chevy's driver was probably right; the warehouse was the more likely of the two remaining sites to contain Todd Pullman. At least the young man's journal had given that as his name. Of course, that meant there was still a lesser possibility Pullman was the other direction, in an equally abandoned glass factory that the Pullman brothers had gotten caught vandalizing a number of times when they were teenagers. That gave him at least a chance to meet up with Todd before the owner of the black car got the same opportunity. He stepped on the gas. Maybe luck would be with him this time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jess squirmed in the now detested chair, watching Sam sleep. She really hadn't been able to put the earlier conversation out of her head. "Know what Sam?" She'd taken to talking to him the last few days, noticing Dean kept up a running stream of chatter when he visited. "It doesn't matter. How you grew up? And why? As long as you come back to me, it doesn't matter. We can start everyday with a promise to never discuss anything that happened before that morning's shower for all I care. Ok?"

When visiting time rolled around again at one am she noticed two things. First off, Dean wasn't back yet. Secondly, as long as you squinted your eyes a bit and held your tongue just right, Sam looked like he was twitching his fingers. _Please don't let that be my imagination.....Please….._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The warehouse turned out to be a complete waste of his time. Dean walked through a second time making sure he hadn't missed anything. Nope. No shooter here. He thumbed the safety back on his gun with a disgusted grunt. He needed to track this bastard down. Needed to make it extraordinarily clear that no one did this to Sam and continued to draw breath. The glass factory it is, then.

It took nearly an hour to drive there, even in the predawn absence of traffic. He felt a second's pause at the difference from his usual quarry, squelched it in less time than that. Human or not, Dean was hunting.

The other vehicle had been there for some time, hidden in the shadows a block away. Its owner took note of chevy's arrival, heard the powerful engine rumble into silence. He should have known he'd get here this quick. So let him search. Nobody to find. Not anymore. He squeezed his body through the cut he'd made in the chain link fence just as the young hunter's first curses sliced into the night air. He hurried to his own car, thankful that it had a much more generic sound. Let the boy find what little he'd left him. Finding other people's work, well, that might please you, might confuse you, might even infuriate the holy shit out of you, but one thing it wouldn't do is haunt your ass.

"Sunova.........." Dean finally calmed the string of invective down to a dull roar and turned back to the smoldering pile before him. The smelting furnaces of the plant had long been dormant, until tonight. Pullman had apparently tried to build a small fire on the floor of one to fend off the evening's cool air. Just how he'd managed to get trapped in the thing after that was anyone's guess. By the time Dean could find some scrap metal to prop the door open and scatter the fire's remains, the smoldering pile was no longer distinctly human. Compliments of one very unique necklace sported in a dozen mug shots; however, it was distinctly Todd Pullman.

"Damn."

Dean threw the metal rod down and sat on the concrete, watching the embers cool. He wasn't sure why he was so angry. He'd wanted Pullman dead and he was sure as the world dead. Dean didn't even have to do it. Still, he'd spent the evening coming to terms with the idea that he might end up killing someone rather than something. Hadn't been easy. This was, well, anticlimactic at the very least. A hell of a coincidence at the most... and Dean didn't really do coincidence. For now though, he had to get back to the hospital. Standing, he heard his boot grinding sand against the floor. _Makes sense, they use sand to make glass, right?_

He bent for a closer look, eventually stooping to run his fingers through the grains in the near darkness. He flicked the tip of his tongue against his thumb. No, not glass-making sand. Salt. _Salt?_

_A/N : Thanks for the reviews and howdy to everyone that put this on their alerts list. Probably no update tomorrow - church night, but I'll be back Thursday. Two chapters to go, I think. Would love to hear from you, hint...lol._


	7. Chapter 7

Dean wandered back to the apartment as the sun rose, collapsing onto the worn couch as soon as the door clicked shut. The strange events at the factory seemed to have leeched away his last reserves, leaving a swirl of confusion. Mark Pullman attacked Jess. Todd Pullman shot Sam when his brother died. Dean went after Todd. It all seemed so linear, right up to finding Todd salted. _Unless I've been doing some kick ass sleep walking, there's a disconnect there..._

He knew Sam needed him at the hospital, but he needed him coherent. At the moment the drained hunter would have been hard pressed to recall his own name. Then again, that wasn't as easy as it sounded if you lived like Dean. Jessica would just have to handle the morning shift at the hospital by herself. Snoring filled the room before he could ponder any further.

Jessica was indeed handling the morning shift, restlessly pacing the hallway that separated her from Sam. Seven o'clock finally graced the world and she was allowed back into the ICU.

"Morning Ms. Moore." A young man in rumpled black scrubs was consulting a laptop before tapping in new settings on the ventilator beside the bed.

"Morning. Just Jessica's fine. Are you Sam's nurse today?" She frowned at the tapping, wondering what else could go wrong. "Everything ok?"

"I'm not his nurse today. Melanie is." He paused to point out a tiny brunette at the desk. "Navy scrubs for the nurses, black ones are for respiratory therapy, remember?"

Jess rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, I do remember that. Sorry, it's early and I slept in the waiting room again. So, the vent?" She nodded back to where he continued to make adjustments.

"Dr. Sawter discussed it with Dr. BIinnis, the pulmonologist, on rounds this morning. They decided the lab work had improved enough for a breathing trial."

"A what?'

"I'll gradually cut back on the number of breaths a minute the machine supplies. It was set at 18, I just changed it to 14, and we'll see if Sam picks up the slack. If not, the tube's still in place, so it's easy to change back to full support. It'll probably take most of the day to see how it goes."

"Can I still sit with him?"

"Sure. This could even take a few days, so doesn't change anything about visiting. I doubt you'll notice anything different for awhile anyway. I'll be by again in an hour."

Jess sat as he left the room, first planting a quick kiss on Sam's forehead. "Here I thought midterms were over and you've gone and found yourself another test. Well, you've never flunked one yet. So were you really moving those fingers around for me last night or just being a big tease?" She hopefully took one of his hands in both of hers. Nothing. "No command performances, huh love? It's ok, I can wait."

She spent the remainder of the hour on a unilateral stream of chatter, running the gambit from Dean's revelation's of the day before to whether or not the apartment needed a new egg timer. Anything to fill the void of silence where Sam should be.

Dean arrived early for noon visiting, finding Jessica again perched in the ever present grey tweed.

"Hey, you get any sleep here last night?"

She stifled another yawn, blearily peering up a Dean. "A little. How 'bout you?"

Dean turned on his best grin. "Me? Slept like a baby all night. Why don't you go home for a few hours and I'll take the noon and four o'clock visiting, then we can meet back here before eight?"

"Sure." Jessica gauged the still visible circles under his eyes with some suspicion. They'd faded from a deep purple to a sooty grey smudge, but they weren't exactly gone. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you go yesterday?"

He hesitated, deciding how far to stray from the truth. Something about this new world of Sam's seemed to demand a degree of honesty. He'd have to make sure to squash that habit like a crawly bug when he left. "I went to look for Todd Pullman."

"You still think he did this?"

"Convinced." The green eyes had lost all their warmth at the mention of Pullman's name.

"Did you find him?"

There was a limit to how far a new honesty habit should go. "No, no I didn't. How's Sam this morning?"

Jess sighed. "He looks about the same, but they're doing a breathing test." She filled in the details, including the twitching fingers of the night before.

"That has to be good, right?" Dean's usual swagger faltered a bit as the conversation returned to Sam's ongoing inability to breathe for himself.

Jess nodded, each of them trying to convince the other.

"Take care of him while I'm gone, ok?" She forced a smile, not having any easier a time leaving the hospital than Dean had. "I'll be back by seven with some sandwiches."

Dean returned to Sam's room the instant the clock released him from waiting room purgatory, steeling himself once more for Sam's motionless form.

"Hi Sam; me again. I'm tellin' you, ya gotta redecorate the place if you're gonna stay here much longer. This chair, I'm gonna seriously need a chiropractor, dude. You remember that chiroprator that had the office across from that old hotel in Columbus? She got everything of mine adjusted just fine, thanks. What was her name? Oh well, can't remember. Karen? Kara? Cora? Kate?... Her alignment though, now that was memorable. Yeah, I know, I've got gutter brain. What'd you expect, leaving me talking to myself this long? Apparently they're tired of providing you air around this place, princess, you are officially on rationing. Going to have to wake up and get your own."

Dean took a look at the numbers on the ventilator screen. Unlike Jessica, he'd memorized them all two days ago, unsure of what they meant, but wanting to be instantly aware of any change. Sure enough, a fourteen had replaced the glowing green eighteen of yesterday. "I tracked Todd Pullman down, Sammy. He was, ah, dead when I got there. Salted and burned, actually, got my own ideas on that. Anyhow, he's gone, the police arrested his friend, and you got his brother, so this is over.

I've been meaning to talk to you about good ol' Mark anyway. Thought I was the one with the temper control issues! I talked to the police a few times, which I wouldn't do for anyone but you by the way; it seems you're off the hook as far as that goes. I'm guessing the whole shot in the back thing notched up the 'not my fault' sympathy factor for killing the guy."

Dean gently tapped his finger against Sam's temple. "No need for hiding out in here now."

The therapist was back halfway through the hour, a twelve now replacing the fourteen on the vent screen. Fifteen minutes later, Dean felt the first twinge from Sam. Not much, a feeble little jerk of his chin.

"Sammy? You hear me? Sam?" He stood, the vantage point making it easier to see Sam's face. No answer, but his brother's eyebrows pulled together. Dean pushed the call button for the nurse.

"He's frowning at me, moving his head a bit. Respiratory changed the vent again a few minutes ago." Dean's voice held a note of uncertainity.

Melanie went to the opposite side of the bed, pulling a stethoscope from around her neck as she walked. She took a quick listen to Sam's chest, then pulled open his eyes to swoop in with a pen light. She smiled when Sam definitely didn't care for that.

"Well, I don't think he's frowning at you per se, he's not that awake, but it's a good start. He's doing some of the breathing work for himself now, too. I'll let Dr. Sawter know. Meanwhile, I'm going to ask you to step back out to the waiting room so we can get a better look at him."

Dean reluctantly left, craning his head back over his shoulder. He hated the idea that Sam might wake up to find neither he nor Jessica there. _Would have waited to say anything if I'd known it was going to get me exiled._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had taken a day to turn over the North Carolina job to Caleb and three nights in seven run down bars to hustle enough pool money for the plane ticket to California and back. John sank backward into the uncomfortable cabin seat, bookended by business travelers and their corporate trappings. That was a world he'd never understand. He turned to staring at his own lap, hoping to avoid idle chatter. A small scar on his left thumb caught his eye. A hunting scar of sorts, the first one he'd ever gotten. One of the few he'd never discussed with Dean. It was a tiny thing, no more than an inch long, certainly unimpressive in the midst of his larger collection. Except. Except that it didn't come from a spirit, or a wendigo, or werewolf. No, not any of those....

_"John, behind you!"_

_John whirled in the fetid air, unable to see either the threat or whoever whispered the harsh warning. He heard the scrape of knife on bone, a sickening plop as a boy converted into a corpse and tumbled onto his boots. He grimaced at the now permanently surprised face. What was his name? Schubert? Shoeman? Something like that. The kid had only been in country three days. Never gonna see four. He tugged his toe from beneath the body and resumed his silent search in the dark, a gun uselessly slung across his shoulder. Firing in this humid blackness was as likely to kill friend as foe. He tightened his grip on the knife in his hands. If he could get to the clearing, he just might survive this night. If he could get to the clearing, he could extract payment for the six others who had not. It had to be close now. Another dozen yards. A lifetime._

_He paused at the jungle clearing's edge, sweat running into his eyes, skittering down the muscles of his back. He heard nothing of the enemy he knew was before him. Nothing of the help that should have been behind. He was alone. Nineteen, alone, and scared. One more step should give him enough light to see across to where he could feel them waiting. How many men were there? Three or four probably. More? He tucked the his knife away, positioned his rifle. He was a good shot, hours of practice on the firing range would attest to that, but this felt different. John had never killed before._

_He stepped forward, leaving the cloying cover and refocusing his eyes. The shadow still hid him somewhat, but he could now make out the two dark shapes across from him. Only two. He had a chance then. Not daring to breathe he sighted the rifle. _

_It changed in a second, the crumpled bodies now on the ground before him, a shrieking form on his back wrapping massive arms around his neck. No doubt the knife owner that had dispatched Schubert moments ago. John dropped his gun, desperately trying to hold the hands, and the other knife in them, away from his throat. His attacker was persistent and somewhere in the course of the struggle the knife sliced into his thumb, grating against the bone. He slammed his own back repeatedly into the trees, finally dislodging his foe. As they fell to the ground, he retrieved his gun, firing an additional round. _

_He'd thought he was alone ten minutes earlier. Now he realized that wasn't the case. Ten minutes ago he was friendless, but not alone. Now there were three dead bodies at his feet, returning in death to the near children they were. Now the innocent Kansas upbringing was over. Now he'd become a killer for the first time. Now he was alone._

John ran the tip of his finger over the faded white line on his thumb. Of all the lines criss-crossing his hide, this was the only one that still gave him pause. He didn't regret what he'd done that night; it wasn't that at all. He was proud of his service in the marines. He did regret that necessity of it. The loss of that little part of your soul that goes when you kill another human. For all that he'd raised Dean and Sam to be hunters, he'd never wanted them confronted with that. Killing evil was different. John had very intentionally not taught them to kill men. Now inspite of his best efforts, Mark Pullman had introduced his younger son to that hell. Damned if he'd been willing to let Todd do the same to the elder.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Four o'clock finally rolled around, Dean front and center of the small line of relatives waiting to get back into the ICU. Not that the other families were less eager to see their loved ones - just something about the stance of the young man in the leather jacket announced he was first. He rounded the corner into Sam's room, skidding to a complete stop at the foot of the bed.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes instantly took in the fine sweat keeping the bangs plastered to his brother's forehead, the rapid rise and fall of the chest. Sam's long fingers trembled slightly against the sheet, as if he were trying to grasp the fabric.

"Sam? What's going on with you? You ok, dude, 'cause you've looked better?" Although he'd begged his brother to awaken, panic intruded into the moment. "Sam??"

Dean glared at the now cursed chair, offended by its continued calm existence. Sitting there beside the bed like a week of this watching-your-brother-try-to-die crap was a damn spectator sport. Something was different, was wrong, with Sam and the last thing Dean wanted was to flop into that chair and keep some kind of score. He shoved it into the corner and stood beside the bed, making sure he was in Sam's line of sight. Now if he would just open those hazel eyes....

A garbled choking sound startled Dean, Sam suddenly trying to toss his head to the side, back arching against the bed. Beeping started from two places at once, the heart monitor above registering 120 and the ventilator blinking a red 30 where the nice green 12 had been. Dean grabbed Sam's hand as it made a more serious attempt to move, fingers beginning to curl around the corrogated plastic tubing.

"Sammy?!?" Dean kept a grip on Sam's hand, other hand fumbling for the call button. Forget that. "Melanie!"

As soon as he bellowed her name, he realized the nurse was already behind him, looking at the monitors and then at her suddenly restless patient. She ignored Dean to call for colleague. "Patrick, come in here a minute, will ya? He's bucking the vent."

Sam's other hand made a tentative move toward the vent tubing, but she caught it in both of hers, pushing it back to his side. The other nurse, Patrick, arrived, laying his torso across the younger Winchester's.

"There are restraints in the bottom drawer of the cart, grab 'em and pass them up here." Her voice gave away how much effort it was taking to hold Sam.

"Wait a minute. Restraints!? No way. What's wrong with him? Can't you give him something?" Everything in Dean rebelled at helping strangers tie his helpless brother down.

"Mr. Winchester, I'll explain in a minute, but for right now either help us or get out of the way."

In the end it took rather longer than a minute, and a heartsick Dean did help them pin an increasingly combative Sam. Finally padded white straps encirled both ankles and wrists, pulled tight to the side rails of bed. The heart monitor alarm stopped, the rate once again below 100 after a dose of something slipped in the IV, but the baleful red light of the ventilator flashed sullenly on.

The two nurses walked to the hall outside the door, beckoning for Dean to follow.

"I'm hoping there's a helluva reason I just trussed up my own brother." Dean shot a murderous look at the both of them.

"Patrick, go ahead back to your patient, I got this." She took a deep breath and turned back to Dean. "There is. I know that little scene looked cruel, but it's a good sign, at least potentially. He's waking up and starting to fight with the tube in his throat, take breaths on his own. As he feels something gagging him and trying to force air down his throat, he's bound to get panicky. It's a natural response. That's why his heart's beating faster, too. Unfortunately, until he opens his eyes and at starts to understand where he is, we can't simply pull the tube out. I could call the doctor for a sedative order, but I doubt I'd get it. Putting him back to sleep isn't the answer here."

Dean turned his glare down a few notches. He wasn't excited about admitting it, but that made a certain degree of sense. "What you gave him wasn't a sedative?"

"No, a beta blocker. It will slow down his heart, but it won't put him back to sleep. It's not something we want to use a lot of either; it isn't always great for breathing. You're missing the upside here."

"My brother freaked out and we tied him down. Not seeing an upside."

The nurse out a hand on Dean's arm, understanding better than he thought. "Freaking out, as you put it, takes a certain amount of awareness. Maybe your brother's still in there."

_He better be.... _Dean managed a clipped nod. "So now what?"

"Now you go back in there and try to calm him down. If he's thrashing this much, he'll hear you, eyes open or not. Inspite of what I said, if he gets too rambunctious we may have to sedate him and that'll set us back a day or two on trying to extubate him. Familar voices work best, so head in there and just talk."

_Been doing that for a week, genius. _

"So, Sam, you know that old one about this is for your own good?" Dean walked back into the room, resting a hand on Sam's good shoulder and pushing his hair back again with the other. He felt the tension in the muscle of the arm radiate up through his fingers, saw the darting of eyes beneath the closed lids. "Yeah, I never really bought that one either. Sorry. Warden Nightengale out there thinks you're gonna hurt yourself. Quite a display you put on there, little brother, I can see where she got that idea. Let me give you a word of advice though. You decide to let some chick spread eagle you to a bed, a hospital gown is so not the way to go." A half hearted smile pulled at the corner if Dean's mouth, but it still physically hurt to look at bindings on Sam. The ventilator, the bandages, the wires strung like tinsel, all of that was bad enough, but at least he hadn't helped put it there.

Gradually, the tense arms relaxed, the breathing slowed. Dean noted that their breathing patterns were now the same. Huh. Had he matched his to Sam's or the other way around? He kept talking through the rest of the hour, looking up as Dr Sawter entered at five pm.

"Why don't you stay, Dean? Melanie filed me in on earlier, apparently you've got the magic touch on settling him down. That'll help him more than sticking to visiting hours will."

Dean nodded, mentally dismissing the older man, attention already returned to Sam. Jessica arrived at seven with the promised sandwiches, hastily eaten in the hall. Even in the seven minutes it took to do that, Sam's heartrate increased by a third. He needed Dean.

Jessica and Dean alternated the night in twenty minute shifts, periods of talking constantly to Sam in soft low tones traded off for brisks walks in the cool air of the hospital coutyard to stay awake. It was toward four that Dean noticed Jessica wasn't talking as he entered the room. The soft singing was barely audible, but it almost looked as if Sam was trying to smile.

"Jessica?"

She startled slightly at the sound of his voice.

"Sorry, Dean, I didn't hear you. I think he's starting to flutter his eyes a little. I'll be back in twenty." She gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze before leaving the room.

The ICU residents made it in at five-thirty, once again finding Dean beside the bed. He'd apparently signed a peace treaty with the chair, which had been rescued from the corner and forced to support his frame. After a fair amount of flipping through the chart and prodding at Sam, they decided the breathing tube was coming out as soon as Sam opened his eyes. That was all Dean needed to hear. 'Make enough noise to wake the dead' was not an idle expression here. After all, the waking dead was a Winchester specialty. A quarter past eight and a few shift changes later, and those eyes finally blinked.

"Sam? Thank God. Scared me kiddo." Dean put a hand on Sam's arm when he saw his brother tug at the restraint. "Oh no you don't. You're in the hospital. I know that all feels awful, got enough junk stuck to you to restock Bobby's place." He searched for recognition in the wild hazel eyes, but found only confusion.

Sam's eyes got wider as he became aware that he was held fast, unable to free himself from the choking pressure in his throat, dull pain blooming through his back and chest. He was trapped, he couldn't breathe, had to get loose....

*

*  
*

A/N - Hi everybody - thank you so much for the reviews - and reading this story .Hope you're still enjoying, let me know :)


	8. Chapter 8

"SAM!" Dean barked at his brother, marshalling the tone of voice they'd both instantly obeyed for a lifetime. "Stop it!"

He waited until the futile thrashing stilled, praying for a sign of recognition.

"There you go, calm down. That's right. I'm going to get Dr. Sawter, ok? We've been waiting on you to wake up to pull that tube in your mouth out. I'm not leaving, be right back."

Hazel eyes locked with green ones, still unable to process what was happening_. Gagging. Can't breathe... Tied down... Hurting... Have to get loose, have to…. wait_….._it's ok?… know those eyes… ok._ He blinked in silent agreement.

The surgical residents from earlier came instead of Sawter, but Dean was grateful for anyone who could help Sam. He and Jessica were shooed outside the room and promptly relegated to the ICU desk.

The residents in the room propped the head of the bed up, attempting to talk to Sam for several minutes.

He got more agitated the longer they rambled, resulting in a page to Dr. Sawter. He assessed Sam, then made his way to the pair waiting outside.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean's voice held a note of accusation in spite of his best efforts.

"He's too confused to cooperate with the surgeons. We're going to have to sedate him and try again in a few days."

Dean stared the neurologist down. "Thought you didn't want to do that; that his chances of ever getting well go down the longer he's out."

Dr. Sawter sighed in frustration. "They do, but I can't let him hurt himself any further either. The chest tube in particular has to stay in place." The stubborn set of the hunter's jaw suggested this discussion was going nowhere. "Look, you can come in there with me. If you talk him down again, we'll try this one more time."

Dean pushed past the other man, instantly at his brother's side. "Hey Sammy. Told you I was coming back, right?" His hand settled on Sam's forehead, making sure his brother looked him in the eye. "That's it, just slow down. Breathe slower. Good, Sam. That's it. Slower. You're fine."

Dean had learned years ago that the words didn't matter to Sam as long as he could hear the familiar voice. No matter how badly he was hurt, if it was Dean that told him he was fine, he'd believe the lie. They both would. "The docs here want to take that tube out of your throat, Sam, ok? That's it. I'm right here. Slower."

He kept up the stream of soft chatter as the resident moved back to head of Sam's bed. The minute the doctor's hand touched him, however, Sam panicked, the muscles in shoulders and neck snapping tight as the heart monitor fought to keep up with the pounding in his chest.

_Damn…_

Melanie tapped Dr. Sawter on the shoulder, a syringe in her hand. "You want the versed?"

"Yeah…No, maybe not." The neurologist glanced at Dean. "Would he let you do this?"

"What?"

"Pull the tube. It isn't hard and you don't strike me as squeamish, son. He's medically ready." Sawter pulled a spare tube from a drawer and quickly showed Dean how to deflate the balloon with a syringe, impressed as the young man manipulated it with one hand flawlessly, never missing a beat in the stream of words to calm his sibling.

"I got it." Dean smiled, putting more warmth in it than he felt. "Sam? You're fine, ok? Doc's feeling brave, gonna let me do this. Hey, slower, ok? Can't make me look bad here, kiddo, already told him I had it covered… Breathe slower…. That's it… Big breath out…"

And then the tube was gone, quickly followed by the smaller one in Sam's nose and the restraints. Dr. Sawter and the residents waited out the coughing fit triggered by the removal, then slipped out of the room.

"You scared me, Sammy. " Dean watched his brother's eyes roam the room, the wary confusion only abating whenever they randomly landed on Dean. "Talk to me, Sam."

Nothing.

"So, you going to tell me about Jess? Been holdin' out on me, Sam. I thought you were out here cracking the books." Dean took another ice chip from the styrofoam cup, spooning it into Sam's mouth. "Not talking yet, huh?"

_Talking?_

_Hurts…._

"More time for my charming conversation then. Gotta tell you, that Melanie nurse of yours? Hot. Since you're apparently spoken for, I'm betting….."

_What?_

_Breathing hurts…_

"I saw your apartment little brother. Please tell me that crochet whatsit on the kitchen table isn't yours…"

_Talking still…_

_Wh-What?_

"This is done, Sam. Pullman's dead. The other one, I mean…"

_I hurt…._

_Voices…_

"And Jessica's fine. You pushed her down in time and she's fine. Still got those reflexes if you ever wanted to come home. Guess not though, huh…."

_Know that voice…._

_Dean…_

"D-D'n?"

A day later Jessica and Dean had claimed their usual couch in the ubiquitous grey waiting room, Jess having just returned from Sam's side. Dean had slipped to the window to watch them, taking in his brother's dimpled smile as he saw her.

"You sure he's ok?" Dean peered at Jess again.

"Yes, for the tenth time." She smiled, easing any sting from her words. "He's asleep again, but he's fine. Breathing's still hard, Melanie says he'll need the oxygen mask another few days. It'll probably take the same to get the chest tube out, but Dr. Blinnis doesn't forsee any problems. Sam might even be able to start some physical therapy by the end of the week. He's still mixed up, the staff all say he won't remember any of this in a day or two."

"Yeah, about that. Dr. Sawter told me the same thing. Sam may or may not ever remember the shooting, but he almost certainly won't remember the last forty eight hours. Which means this is my cue."

Jessica made a puzzled frown. "What do you mean?"

Dean took her hands in his, choosing words carefully. "I am beyond thankful you called me when this happened. I needed to be here with Sam. I'd like to think he needed that too. But Sam wants a new life, away from how we grew up. Away from our Dad and our job. Away from me. He deserves that, you said so yourself." Dean ran a tired hand over his face, wondering if he could do what he planned. "I have to leave."

"Leave? Surely you want to stay with him after all this? You can't just leave, for God's sake."

"Of course I want to stay, but it isn't what he wants. He wants his life here with you. You can't tell him I was here, Jess. And you especially can't tell him what I said about us growing up. He gave up everything to make his past truly past. Don't make that for nothing."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. Just promise. For Sam?"

She sighed. Dean wore the same wistful there's-no-explaining-this-look she's seen on Sam so many times. "Alright. For Sam, I'll promise, but I think he still needs you, Dean."

Dean shook his head, muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Thought about the stash of ring receipts in a footlocker under a bed. "No, no he doesn't." _I need him though… doing this to me twice, kid_… "I have a feeling we'll meet again, Jessica Moore. We just have to do it as strangers. Take care of my little brother." He jerked to his feet, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he walked away.

A/N – one more chapter to go, thanks to everyone who's reading. Hearing from all of you has been wonderful.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! Remind me to never again say I can post quickly – everyone in my house has had this ridiculous flu. I'm so sorry for the wait….

Chapter 9

Three weeks later…

_Buttons. I hate buttons. _Sam leaned a streamlined hip against the scratchy mattress, sighing at the amount of weight he'd dropped since the shooting. _Shooting. Huh, still don't remember that…_

He'd panted his way into the deep green sweatshirt Jess had brought for him to change into, finding the color strangely appropriate. After all whomever she'd borrowed it from could pass for the jolly green giant if it was this much too large on him. Still, the expanse of cotton was welcome as he eased it over the bandaged chest and shoulder, struggling around the sling as best he could. The jeans were almost as baggy as the shirt and sadly they were his. Oh well. A few weeks, a few pizzas and he could put that part of this behind him, assuming Jess would let him off the rabbit food. _I can put off telling her I'm finally starting to like the stuff…wonder how we put the rest of this behind us…I killed a man….you'd think I'd remember that at least…_

The meandering stream of thought was interrupted as Sam heard footsteps in the corridor. Jessica would be here any second, ready to drive him home, not that he wasn't facing another two to three months of outpatient physical therapy. Which brought him back to the button. _How the hell do I protect Jess when I can't button my own pants?_

"Sam?" Jess smiled as entered the hospital room, eager to draw him away from the faint whirring of equipment, the whispered voices of strangers, and the lingering traces of antiseptic. Away from everything that reminded her of how near she'd come to leaving here alone. "You ready?"

"Yeah, almost." He ducked his head, managing a grin up through long bangs. "Maybe you could, ah, I can't seem to, um…"

She cut him off with a quick kiss, buttoning the jeans before he could actually ask. "We're gonna be ok, Sam, you know that, right?"

.

A month later and he believed her.

Therapy today had gone better than usual, the range of motion in the arm almost back to normal. Shortness of breath with exercise continued to plague him to the point that he'd seen the pulmonologist a week early, but Dr Blinnis had chuckled once he found out that Sam's breathing problems with activity stemmed from an attempt at kick boxing.

Sam forced out a laugh as well, insisting the doctor not tell Jess he was overdoing it. He couldn't explain to either of them why getting back to what the medic had jokingly called fighting trim was paramount. Heck, he couldn't even explain the urgency to himself; he just knew it was there_. Isn't safe to let your guard down, kiddo, not ever…. Where'd that come from?_ Even so, Blinnis's reassurance that his body would compensate for the missing lung section given some time was comforting.

He had about an hour before Jess made it home from her last class, his gaze wandering over the apartment. The pile of paperwork he'd brought home from the hospital covered the edge of the desk, along with a few newspaper clippings of the attempted rape, the shooting and the police search for the suspect. Time to put that away and move on. Sam carefully lowered himself to the floor, cautious now more out of habit than physical infirmity, and pulled his footlocker from under the bed. He could store the articles in there, a genetic bent toward revenge making him unable to throw them away altogether.

His fingers brushed across the rubber banded packet of receipts as soon as he opened the locker, his dimples making an instant appearance at the find. The final receipt met his eyes, charmingly stamped paid only yesterday. A black velvet box nestled inside the bundle, concealing the diamond within. All he had to do was choose a day. Not today though. Today was getting rid of the hospital reminders.

Articles successfully buried below the exorcism text, Sam dumped the contents of the manila envelope from the hospital. Most of it was expected, copies of follow up instructions, information on how hospital billing worked. A rattle caught his attention, momentarily surprising him until Sam remembered emptying his pockets when they'd arrived home the first day, too exhausted then to be interested in whatever remained in his jeans. Vaguely curious, he counted out two dollars and fourteen cents in change, uncrumpled a voucher for the hospital cafeteria, and retrieved the copper key ring he'd assumed was lost. Nothing important there.

Suddenly a wave of vertigo flowed over him as he took another look at the change. At one particular quarter. A 1962 quarter with a subtle notch at four o'clock. Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked at it again, certain that his eyes were playing tricks. They weren't.

"_Look, Sammy, just keep it in your shoe, ok?" Dean handed him a 1960 dime, a tiny nick in the edge at four o'clock. "I have a quarter like it, and it's not going to hurt you to humor me."_

_Nine year old Sam fingered the dime, then shrugged and tucked it inside the slit Dean made in the lining of his sneaker. "Is yours in your shoe?"_

"_Um, actually no Sam, it's in my pocket, but I need to make sure you don't spend it, or…"_

_An exasperated huff escaped the younger boy. "One time, Dean. One time I let that Cooper punk take my money, and it's been two years. It's not going to happen again."_

_Dean recalled how quickly Sam had taken to the self defense lessons John had instituted after that and chuckled. "No, I guess not. Ok kiddo, shoe, pocket, whatever you want. Just keep the thing."_

"_Fine." He shifted the coin to his pocket. "What's it for?"_

"_What happened to coins in 1964 Sam?"_

"_It was the last year dimes and quarters were silver…Oh."_

"_You got it. You always want to have a silver blade with you if you can, but teachers have the strangest hang ups about that in school. Ms. Miller last year? Acted like I was some sort of juvenile delinquent when she spotted the knife I had, and you practically needed a magnifying glass to find the thing; I mean come on… Anyway, the coins are a good compromise. Small, easy to carry, not valuable enough to steal. The notch in them isn't much, but you could scratch something with it if you had to, I filed it down. Don't lose it."_

_Sam rolled the dime inside his pocket, intentionally nicking his finger. Could work…_

He shifted the knife set in the footlocker aside, spotting the dime he'd left there two years ago. He'd given up carrying it when he'd arrived at Stanford, shutting it away with the remnants of the life he'd left behind. The quarter he hadn't seen in a slightly longer time frame. Before that though, he'd caught glimpses of it frequently; every time Dean counted change for anything the quarter was always carefully replaced in his pocket. His brother kept it with him all the time, so if it was here, then…..nah……maybe??

_Dean was here. Not sure how, but he was here. No other explanation. Did he sneak in? How'd he know? Wonder if he saw Jessica? Wonder if Dad knows? If he cares?.... I could call…. 'If you go, stay gone'…. So, no, can't call……..still…..Dean was here….._

Sam sighed, torn between an aching resurgent need for his brother and the need to keep Jess safe. He'd thought leaving the hunt would do that, yet she'd been attacked. Somehow finding that quarter made everything less clear. He slid the quarter in his pocket and selected a knife from the hunting set in the locker, deciding to replace the one he'd lost in the fight outside the bar. His boot sheath had been empty long enough. Finally he lifted the ring box, tracing his finger over the top without opening it.

I lie to her everyday about who I am, about what's really in the world, about what I think may be following me in more than my nightmares. And now I've killed someone along with all the somethings. How could she want that? The Sam she wants doesn't even exist…. I love you, Jess, and someday I'll find a way to tell you. To take the risk, and then I can ask. But not today, and not soon.

He shoved the velvet box to the bottom of the trunk, covering it over with the newspapers as the front door lock turned, wishing desperately he could cover over the hole in his heart as quickly.

Epilogue

Dean pulled the impala back into parking space outside Sam's apartment. It had been fourteen months since he'd been here. He'd intended to stay away, let Sam live the life he deserved. A life Dean knew was going well. It was the last Friday of the month, so only a few days now since he'd last spoken to Jessica. At first he'd tried to ignore the scrap of paper he'd found in his jacket. It was a simple enough note.

"Sam has pre-law journal club last Tuesday of the month, eight to ten p.m. Never misses. I'll be home, call me, Jess."

By the second month after the shooting, the need to check up on his little brother was palpable. So he decided to call her. Just the once, of course, to make sure he recuperated ok. The next month it took even less time to convince himself to dial. Over a year later and he found he arranged and rearranged his work and everything else to get in the two hour phone call with the girl he was fairly sure would become his sister-in-law. She was his lifeline to Sam, a hope that someday he'd reconnect with his brother. And if that didn't happen? Well, at least someone would tell him the kids' names when that rolled around.

He'd been a little surprised at first to find the paper there. After all, he never looked back after walking out of the waiting room that day. She had to have put it there earlier, before he said he was leaving. Was he that predictable? Didn't matter. He was sure Sam was thriving at Stanford and Jessica kept their secret.

Except that now he was back to rain on Sam's parade. Dad was missing, and he needed Sam's help to find him. Would Sam help though? He certainly remembered trying to get his Dad to come help Sam right after the shooting. A point blank refusal to get in the car. Still, maybe John was the one who beat him to Pullman? He'd thought so until he got back to St. Louis. He'd expected at least a question about whether Sam had lived or died. Instead a bellowed "You're late!" had assaulted him through the door, followed by the dressing down of a lifetime. Not a weekend he particularly wanted to rehash.

Guess that didn't matter either. He was still their Dad and Dean still had to go find him. Preferably with Sam's help. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Sliding out of the car, he pulled a set of lock picks from his pocket and let himself into the apartment. As expected it only took a few seconds to hear Sam's footfalls coming toward him in the dark. The fight between them was quick, but it still took Dean longer to pin Sam to the floor than he had expected. He'd definitely healed from that hospital stay. Somehow Dean hadn't envisioned starting this adventure with bruises.

"Easy tiger." ***

Sam finally focused on the figure on top of him. "Dean?... You scared the crap out of me."

"That's cause you're outta practice." Dean smiled down at his brother. Right up until he got flipped over and pinned himself. "Or not. Get off me."

Panting, Sam stood and offered a hand, pulling Dean to his feet.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for a beer."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean didn't miss the change in Sam's tone of voice. So, not in the mood for fooling around. "Ok. We've gotta talk."

Sam shot him an incredulous look. "Ah, the phone?"

"If I'd have called would you have picked up?"

Dean's question went unanswered as Jessica entered the room, flipping on the light switch.

"Sam?"

"Jess."

"Hey." Dean smiled at her with the smirk she remembered so well, eyes frankly appreciative of the tight smurfs T shirt and shorts. She never wore anything like that to the hospital.

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Her voice was suitably surprised. After all, she was legitimately surprised to be talking to Dean in person. …in the middle of the night. ….in her underwear.

Dean smile widened as he walked toward her. "I love the smurfs. I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

"Wait a second while I put something on."

He walked toward her, oblivious to Sam's exasperated reaction behind him. "No, no. No, I wouldn't dream of it, seriously." He gave her his very best pick up line look, the kind you'd never use on someone you actually knew, followed that with a flirtatious gesture, then backed up to talk to Sam. He finished it off with a wink, cementing this as a 'Dean chasing blondes first meeting moment' in Sam's mind. Jess had pulled it off. More than a year and she hadn't told Sam that his brother still felt the need to keep tabs on him. She still hadn't asked Sam just what it was his brother was protecting him from. If she could keep secrets that well… well she was going to make one hell of a Winchester. "Anyway, I've got to borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some kind of family business. Nice meeting you."

xxxxxxxx

Sam slid into the impala, not quite believing he was driving off with Dean to look for their father or that he was layering on yet another secret with Jess. At least he'd be back Monday for his interview. One Winchester secret, though, he could clear up right now. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a notched 1962 quarter, silently handing it to his brother.

Finis.

.

A/N : Dialogue from **** to the end is quoted from the pilot episode of Supernatural and should be properly credited to the authors of that episode.

I know there are a few of you that wanted this to completely leave canon, but I just couldn't do it. Hope you liked it anyway.

Thanks so much to everyone for reading! Please let me know what you think.

I'm posting the first chapter of my next fic here tonight as well for anyone who may be interested; it is also pre series but earlier. It is more action oriented and less, ah, sweet than this, although once an angst junky, always an angst junky, so that common factor remains.

Thanks again.


End file.
